Bay of Isles, South Georgia
It feels like the edge of the world here in South Georgia. Not in a sense like the edge of a paper, a terminus where one might literally reach the end. But more like a border, a place of overlap, a place where the familiar is melded with the unknown. We have seen signs of mankind’s presence, abandoned mostly but still here. We have heard the tales of great men who stopped on their way to or from regions more remote. Today we embraced the wildness that still stands here so untouched by our familiar world.
The wind nipped at our cheeks and exposed fingertips as it slipped from glacial valleys far above. It dashed the clouds against the mountain peaks and from them freed both snow and rain. Periodically it swept them all away and released the sun that sparkled on the tussac grass and on the breasts of birds. Unfiltered brilliance illuminated the long golden whiskers of fur seals that guarded the beaches and was sucked into the darkness of the lanugal fur of their tiny newborn pups. It was the teeth of these magnificent beasts that added the element of danger to the day for in every wild area there must be menace lurking there. Momentarily tamed they let us pass to witness the rites of spring.
Spring was certainly in the air and love (the avian version) was in evidence. Salisbury Plain stretched from the shore to the inconspicuous thinning toe of a glacier far away. A river of penguins flowed from the flanking ridge spilling across muddy flats and onto the pebbly shore. As if splashed from the rapids clusters of white dotted the verdant plain. Adult king penguins clustered for company here, standing silently in moth eaten coats as their annual molt progressed. In the main channel “oakum boys,” last year’s chicks sported many a strange style. Some were still wearing the heavy coats of long downy fur-like feathers. But others wore only a tufted skirt or a “mohawk-do” or maybe fuzzy suspenders, being well on the way to completing this year of dependence on mother and father. Elegant adults, ready to breed, were modeling their finery. Triads, two males with a female, marched round about, the males alternately flashing their golden auriculars or pulling in their tummies and standing sooooo tall to prove they were worthy of being chosen. The decision made, the threesomes became twos who stood side by side, necking and mating.
Nearby on Prion Island wandering albatrosses were going through their rituals. Gangling clumsy chicks from last year flapped frantically as adults who had the last year free were calling and bowing and billing. Freshly prepared mossy nests were awaiting the newest additions. Giant petrels and brown skuas were well on their way, sitting tight on their nests as we passed.
As the afternoon progressed towards evening a change in the wind seemed to draw these gargantuan birds to the air. Heavy bodies do not rise easily in spite of twelve foot wingspans. Their bumbling behavior added comic relief to the drama of the renewal of life. It does not do to simply unfold those long forelimbs, for if the eddy in a gulley is not compensated for, a nose plant is a most embarrassing result. Grace and style can be attained only if one is willing to waddle over hill and dale to the edge, the edge of the cliff where the cold north wind rises and carries the albatross skyward. They soar higher and become one with the wild.
It feels like the edge of the world here in South Georgia. Not in a sense like the edge of a paper, a terminus where one might literally reach the end. But more like a border, a place of overlap, a place where the familiar is melded with the unknown. We have seen signs of mankind’s presence, abandoned mostly but still here. We have heard the tales of great men who stopped on their way to or from regions more remote. Today we embraced the wildness that still stands here so untouched by our familiar world.
The wind nipped at our cheeks and exposed fingertips as it slipped from glacial valleys far above. It dashed the clouds against the mountain peaks and from them freed both snow and rain. Periodically it swept them all away and released the sun that sparkled on the tussac grass and on the breasts of birds. Unfiltered brilliance illuminated the long golden whiskers of fur seals that guarded the beaches and was sucked into the darkness of the lanugal fur of their tiny newborn pups. It was the teeth of these magnificent beasts that added the element of danger to the day for in every wild area there must be menace lurking there. Momentarily tamed they let us pass to witness the rites of spring.
Spring was certainly in the air and love (the avian version) was in evidence. Salisbury Plain stretched from the shore to the inconspicuous thinning toe of a glacier far away. A river of penguins flowed from the flanking ridge spilling across muddy flats and onto the pebbly shore. As if splashed from the rapids clusters of white dotted the verdant plain. Adult king penguins clustered for company here, standing silently in moth eaten coats as their annual molt progressed. In the main channel “oakum boys,” last year’s chicks sported many a strange style. Some were still wearing the heavy coats of long downy fur-like feathers. But others wore only a tufted skirt or a “mohawk-do” or maybe fuzzy suspenders, being well on the way to completing this year of dependence on mother and father. Elegant adults, ready to breed, were modeling their finery. Triads, two males with a female, marched round about, the males alternately flashing their golden auriculars or pulling in their tummies and standing sooooo tall to prove they were worthy of being chosen. The decision made, the threesomes became twos who stood side by side, necking and mating.
Nearby on Prion Island wandering albatrosses were going through their rituals. Gangling clumsy chicks from last year flapped frantically as adults who had the last year free were calling and bowing and billing. Freshly prepared mossy nests were awaiting the newest additions. Giant petrels and brown skuas were well on their way, sitting tight on their nests as we passed.
As the afternoon progressed towards evening a change in the wind seemed to draw these gargantuan birds to the air. Heavy bodies do not rise easily in spite of twelve foot wingspans. Their bumbling behavior added comic relief to the drama of the renewal of life. It does not do to simply unfold those long forelimbs, for if the eddy in a gulley is not compensated for, a nose plant is a most embarrassing result. Grace and style can be attained only if one is willing to waddle over hill and dale to the edge, the edge of the cliff where the cold north wind rises and carries the albatross skyward. They soar higher and become one with the wild.
